


causa mortis

by Emeka



Category: Baroque (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29015310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeka/pseuds/Emeka
Summary: The guilt remains.
Relationships: Brother/Protagonist
Kudos: 2





	causa mortis

It has been so long since his brother’s death. He feels he should be over it by now. It shouldn’t still prey on him. This guilt shouldn’t still be smothering him.

He takes a glass cup, wraps it in cloth, and smashes it against the floor. A moment’s pause, to listen for the sound of footsteps, then he slowly opens up the tinkling shift bag of glass. Most of it is still in big whole pieces--–it was only one swing, after all. And there are some little slivers to get stuck on. But some of it has managed to break off into decently-sized shards, just large enough to see distant reflection in them. He lightly passes his fingers over all the little shards and feels them momentarily, temptingly catch on his flesh.

This is not the first time he has done this. He knows it will not be the last.

It’s because the scar on his hip has healed, keeps healing, and in doing so closes up the connection of blood he once had with his brother. It needs to be opened back up.

He grasps a sizable heft through a cloth, fingers wrapping around almost delicately before tightening. A familiar line of pressure runs across the insides of his fingers, but his hand doesn't interest him right now. That comes on other nights, when he is fragrant with his renewed devotion. The sheets are always washed soon after these sessions, once he is satisfied; he’s yet to need to find an excuse for himself.

The first dig into his hip is always the hardest. The pain can never be truly anticipated, and the scar tissue has grown so thick by now. Even after the first separation, it had enveloped his side in spongy, ropy mass. There’s so much, maybe it shouldn’t even hurt anymore.

The second dig brings the first wetness that he notices. He can feel the thick tearing inside his hip.

The third lengthens the cut so that it runs down his leg. The tissue is less bunched here, but still resilient. The wet schlick of his meat is less important than the minute ripping sound he can actually hear when the glass goes through. The glass is pressing through the cloth, cutting, but it is not currently significant, these small spots of blood.

The fourth dig lengthens the cut from the top, and runs into his unruined flesh. He gasps happily; if he is diligent he will be able to grow out his scar even further. How wide and long can it spread? How much of his body can he make into a testimony to his brother? That’s all it’s good for now, too devastated for anything else–--all of it has been affected by their connection, down to his slightly shorter right leg and the limp in his gait. Even his bones cry for him, warped and exhausted from a decade’s rest.

The fifth dig squelches and he’s finally faced with letting go. His fingers creak as they relax, and the piece of glass falls out. The connection has been opened again, blood for blood, and he is content for the moment to drearily sigh and caress his hip.

**Author's Note:**

> happy early third anniversary, my account!


End file.
